Without You
by singyourheartout287
Summary: Blaine dies in a gay bashing, and Kurt has to cope with it, going through the grieving process and finding a way to make sense and heal from the tragic loss of his fiancé not a year after Finn's death. Somehow, though, he makes it through, because he knows Blaine would've wanted him to. Warnings: Major character death, mentions of Finn's death, suicidal thoughts. Unbetaed.


_Without you the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows_

_... ... ..._

"Hey, Blaine?"

Blaine popped his head out of their curtain partition. "Yeah?"

"Could you do me a favor?" Kurt asked, standing at the kitchen counter with a cookbook staring up at him. "Pretty please?"

"I'm studying," Blaine whined, pouting. Then he stepped over and hugged Kurt's side, kissing his temple. "But for you, I guess I could take a break. What is it?"

Kurt laughed as Blaine nuzzled the space just behind his ear. "This recipe calls for parsley and I just ran out last week. Could you go pick me up some more?"

"I suppose," Blaine said, sighing like he was put out, even though Kurt knew he wasn't.

"I'll be forever in your debt," Kurt told him.

"Mmm, I like the sound of that. You can start your repayment when I get back."

"After I cook."

"Yes, after you cook. I wouldn't dream of interrupting Kurt Hummel in the kitchen."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," Kurt said, smirking.

Blaine knocked his forehead against Kurt's gently before leaning in for a kiss, hands grabbing at Kurt's waist. Kurt tried to protest for a minute, focused on cooking, but Blaine was very persuasive in the way his hands squeezed Kurt's hips and guided him up against the counter as he kissed him deeply.

Kurt laughed working to push Blaine away. "I need that parsley, Blaine!"

"Why can't you come with me to get it?"

"There are other preparatory things I can and need to do before the cumin comes in."

"What are you even making?"

Kurt kissed Blaine's nose and smiled. "You'll see."

Blaine shook his head and leaned in for another kiss, this one shorter, and said, "Alright, alright, I'll be back soon." He disappeared into their room, then re-emerged with his coat on.

"Good. Hey, if you run into Rachel or Santana downstairs, tell them I'm not tolerating their bickering tonight. I'm not above bribing them with wine."

"I'll tell them," Blaine said, laughing. He grabbed his keys before sliding the loft door open and leaving.

Kurt smiled after Blaine before turning back to his recipe.

Rachel and Santana showed up only a few minutes later, both of them having just gotten off the evening shift at the diner.

"Did you guys see Blaine?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, and I find it offensive that you-" Rachel started.

Santana cut in saying, "Shut it, Berry. Blaine just told us that Kurt said no bickering."

"Since when do you listen to what either of them says? And I wasn't even talking to you, Santana!"

"Anytime you talk at all I have the urge to throw you off a cliff."

Kurt sighed and muttered under his breath, "Why do I even bother?"

He went about his cooking, trying his best to ignore them. After a while, he finished what he could without the parsley, so he joined the girls on the couch to watch TV. Of course, they were arguing over what to watch, so he snatched the remote out of Rachel's hand and changed it to a news station.

"You're so boring, Hummel," Santana said.

Rachel groaned. "Really? Why can't you just go back to the kitchen and keep cooking?"

"I'm waiting on Blaine to come back with the parsley." Kurt paused and checked the time on his phone. "He should have been back by now, actually."

Kurt opened his messaging app and sent a quick text to Blaine. _Where are you?_

They sat on the couch watching the evening news with Kurt checking his phone every minute, waiting for a reply from Blaine, who hadn't even read his message yet.

Something was wrong. Kurt could tell.

The next few things all happened very quickly.

On television, the news anchors interrupted their regular story to report on a gay bashing that happened not far from their apartment. Eerily close to the store, actually.

"Oh, that's sad," Rachel said.

Kurt felt paralyzed. He shook his head, telling himself that it didn't mean anything, that Blaine would be home any minute, but the text he'd sent Blaine still just said _delivered _underneath.

"I wonder if we know them," Rachel said. "Kurt, do you think they could go to NYADA?"

"Don't be dumb, Rachel, New York is a city full of homos. It could be anyone," Santana snapped.

"What if it's Blaine?" Kurt whispered.

Both Rachel and Santana turned to him, frowning, but then there was a knock on the door.

"See?" Rachel asked, as if the knock was Blaine.

Kurt shook his head. "Blaine would've just opened the door."

He stood up, going to the door, already knowing what was on the other side. He slid it open and came face to face with two police officers and Kurt's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

"Is he okay?" Kurt asked immediately, tears brimming. "Everything else can wait. Just tell me if he's okay."

"Kurt Hummel?" one of the officers asked.

"Yes!" Kurt said, already hysterical. "Just tell me if he's okay!"

He felt a hand on each shoulder and turned to see Santana and Rachel standing behind him on either side.

The officer who asked his name sighed and said, "We don't know. He's on route to the hospital now. Blaine Anderson was found beaten very badly in an alley. It appears he was found very soon after the assault, so he's very lucky. But we won't know more until he's admitted to the hospital and examined."

"Well which hospital has he been taken to?" Kurt demanded.

"Roosevelt."

Kurt shoved past them, not even bothering to grab his coat in December, and instantly regretted it the second he stepped outside. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He had to get to Blaine. So many possibilities were running through his mind.

Blaine had only been gone an hour. In that time he'd managed to get beaten and left in an alley and discovered by police who notified Kurt and now Kurt was in the street shivering as snow fell on him trying to hail a taxi on a busy Saturday night in New York.

Someone placed a coat around his shoulders and Kurt turned to see Santana with a solemn expression.

"You need someone to go with you. Put on your coat."

Kurt slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat while Santana stepped to the curb and whistled once, a cab immediately pulling up in front of them.

"Let's go."

"What about Rachel?"

"She's hysterical. She's only going to make things worse. I told her to stay until she calmed down then call people and let them know what's going on."

Kurt nodded as he got inside the cab, Santana getting in beside him and telling the cab driver where to go.

He felt numb. The world had been pulled out from underneath him. He tried to tell himself that Blaine was okay, that he didn't know how bad it was, that it could just be another Sadie Hawkins and Blaine had a few broken bones and bruises but he'd be fine, given time.

But the faces of the police officers that had stood at his door had told him differently.

... ... ...

_Without you the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play_

... ... ...

When they pulled up to the hospital, Santana had to grab Kurt's arm and pull him out for him to realize they'd arrived. They practically ran to the doors, Kurt immediately going for the desk and saying, "Blaine Anderson. I'm here to see Blaine Anderson."

The nurse clicked a few things on the computer before saying, "He's being examined my doctors at the moment, but I'll let you know when you can see him. Are you family?"

"I'm his sister," Santana said.

The nurse nodded and said. "Have a seat. A doctor should be in to speak with you soon."

Santana led Kurt over to a couple of empty chairs, sitting him down. "Do you want me to go get coffee?"

"I wouldn't be able to drink it."

"Okay." Santana sat down beside him. After a long moment, she laid a hand on Kurt's knee and said, "He's going to be okay."

Kurt looked up at her. "How do you know?"

"I just do. Psychic Mexican Third Eye, remember?"

Kurt just sighed and dropped his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on his knees. He wasn't sure when he'd started actually crying, but his face was wet. He tried to wipe it away, but he knew it'd just keep coming, so he let himself cry into his hands. Santana rubbed his back but didn't try to comfort him with words.

Painful images ran through Kurt's head. Blaine, lying in a pile of blood on some back street. Trash all around him. Dumped there like he _was _trash. Head bashed in, bones broken, swollen face.

He couldn't think about it anymore. He was going to vomit.

"Distract me," he said.

Santana kept rubbing his back. "Once upon a time, there was this latina bitch who thought it'd be a good decision to join a club full of singing and dancing losers. At first, it was so she could get intel for her weird cheerleading coach, but then she found she liked it. There was this obviously gay boy in the club who was brave enough to come out and withstand the bullying, because he wasn't ashamed to be who he was.

"The universe rewarded this kid with another gay boy. And they fell in love, and it was so disgustingly cute that it even melted the heart of the bitch. Against all odds, this boy had found his soulmate, and the bitch could only hope that one day she could be brave enough to admit that she had already found hers, and it was another woman."

Kurt sniffed and turned to Santana. "You were brave enough. You did admit it."

"Because of you," Santana nodded. "And Blaine. He'll be okay, Kurt."

"Family of Blaine Anderson?"

Kurt shot up from his chair and walked over to the doctor. "That's us. How is he?"

"He's in the ICU. He was beaten very badly. It appears the people who did this hit him with something hard, like a crowbar, as well as kicking and punching. Luckily, no knives were involved, but there's a lot of internal bleeding. They cracked several of the bones in his arm and broke one of his legs, as well as some ribs, which punctured his lungs. He suffered several blows to the head, putting him at a great risk to slip into a coma, but we need to get him to an operating room and fix the internal injuries."

"Do it, then," Kurt said immediately. "Do the surgeries."

"There's always a risk for coma after surgery, but there's an even greater risk in Blaine's case. Are you sure?"

"What happens if he doesn't go into surgery?"

The doctor paused. "He'll likely die."

"Then yes do the fucking surgery!" Kurt yelled, crying again. Santana pulled him back, but it didn't calm him down. "Of course do the surgery if he's going to die without it! What kind of fucking doctor are you?"

"I'm sorry about him," Santana said. "Please do the surgery. Keep us updated."

The doctor nodded and left.

Santana ushered Kurt back over to the chairs, standing above him. "Kurt, you can't freak out like that."

"What am I supposed to do, then, huh? Be calm? Say, 'Oh, yes please Mr. Doctor, please take Blaine into surgery! Thank you for asking!'? It's fucking ridiculous! If he's going to die without it, why would they even ask?"

"Because there's a chance he'll die with it," Santana said quietly.

Kurt sagged down into his chair, rubbing his face. "I'll take that coffee now."

... ... ...

_The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly_

... ... ...

Kurt woke blearily, looking around. Santana was still sitting beside him, holding a cup of coffee between her hands. He groaned, wiping a hand over his face. "How long have we been waiting?"

"Six hours."

"No one's come to update us?"

"Not yet."

Kurt sighed.

"Rachel came, though," Santana said. "Sam and Mercedes too. And Artie."

"Where'd they all go?"

"I sent them away. I told them to go sleep and come back in the morning. I didn't think you needed everyone crowding you with reassurances. They don't know how bad it is."

"You didn't tell them?"

"No."

Kurt paused, then nodded. "Good."

"We can call them back here when Blaine gets out of surgery. If he wakes up."

Kurt didn't miss the 'if,' but he chose not to dwell on it. Because Blaine was going to wake up. He had to. He was only getting parsley. This city was supposed to be their safe haven, where they were free to be who they were without the fear they had in Ohio. Things like this weren't supposed to happen here. So Blaine had to be okay. Because if he wasn't, that would mean their lives were built on a lie, and Kurt couldn't handle that.

After another hour, police came by and talked to Kurt, asking him a few questions before explaining they hadn't caught the people who did this and there was a chance they wouldn't. They were going to try, though, they assured Kurt. They were checking security cameras from businesses in the area and interviewing the people in the area at the time.

Then they left, and Kurt was waiting again. He and Santana didn't talk much, and he was grateful for that. It reminded him of the solace he'd found in his friendship with Santana during the time of Finn's death.

And oh, this whole situation just felt like Finn's death all over again.

"I can't lose him too, Santana," Kurt said quietly. "I lost one person this year. I can't lose another."

Santana didn't say anything at first. She took Kurt's hand, and after a minute said, "I know."

Another hour later and the same doctor from before had entered the waiting area, walking up to them with a somber expression. Kurt stood up, and his heart dropped to the floor before the doctor even spoke.

"We were able to repair his lung and set his bones again, but he had a lot of bleeding in his brain. We tried to fix that as well, but he went brain dead on the operating table. There was nothing we could do."

Kurt's hand flew to his chest. He was struggling to find breath, asking, "So, what does that mean?"

"Well, we've placed him on a ventilator, so he's still breathing, but he's not really there. The ventilator is the only thing keeping him alive."

"Oh, my god," Kurt gasped, falling onto his chair again. His hand flew to his mouth, tears in his eyes. "Oh, my god."

He couldn't breathe. The ventilator keeping Blaine's body breathing was stealing the breath from Kurt's lungs and he couldn't _breathe. _He kept starting sentences but he couldn't finish them, couldn't get the words to leave his throat. Blaine was gone. He was _gone _and Kurt couldn't _breathe. _

"Hey, Kurt, hey, come here." Santana was pulling at him, trying to get him to hold onto her, so he gave in, crashing into her. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, fingers digging into her back, sobbing into her shoulder.

But it was wrong. She didn't feel right in his arms. It wasn't Blaine, and it would never be Blaine again, and just thinking the words didn't make any sense to him because Blaine was _gone. _

"Can we see him?" Santana asked the doctor.

Kurt didn't look up, didn't want to see if the doctor nodded or shook his head, because it didn't matter. He wouldn't be seeing Blaine, he'd be seeing Blaine's body, because Blaine wasn't there anymore.

Blaine was gone.

... ... ...

_Without you, the earth turns, the sun burns, but I die without you_

... ... ...

The doctor took them both to see Blaine.

Kurt was still crying, but he tried to keep it quiet as he walked behind the doctor to Blaine's room, clutching Santana's hand. The doctor stepped aside at Blaine's doorway and said, "If there's anything I can do, let me know."

_Bring my fiancé back. That's what you can do, _Kurt thought.

He started crying even harder when he saw Blaine, all bandages and casts and bruised, lying limp in that hospital bed, a huge machine hooked up and breathing for him.

It was worse than Kurt imagined. So much worse. The final image of Blaine he was going to have, and it was this broken body in a hospital bed.

Kurt shook his head. "I can't do this."

"You have to," Santana urged.

He turned to see Santana crying too, but she was holding it together much better than he was, and Kurt was grateful to have her in his life. He stepped closer to Blaine's bed, crying again.

"Blaine?"

He sat in the chair beside Blaine's bed and took his bruise and bloody hand. "Blaine, I know you're not in there, and you know I don't believe in this kind of stuff, but..." he trailed off, his voice cracking. "I need to believe in this. I need to believe that you can hear me, somewhere in some better place. I need to believe that you're okay somewhere."

Kurt heard Santana sniffing behind him, but he didn't bother to turn around. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. I-I failed you. I sent you out, and I did this, and if it weren't for me, we'd be home right now, cuddling and watching those stupid reality TV shows we can't stop watching." He was crying so hard he could barely breathe, and he clutched at Blaine's hand with both of his, holding tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"This wasn't your fault, Kurt," Santana said quietly.

"Then whose fault is it!" Kurt demanded, turning on her. "If it weren't for me, he never would've gone out. He'd be safe at home. This is _my _fault!"

"No," Santana insisted, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. "This wasn't you. This was some _stupid, ignorant _assholes who dragged Blaine in an alley and beat him to death. This is not on you."

Kurt blew out a breath, shaking his head. He let go of Blaine's hand and stood up, taking a couple steps before picking up the chair he'd been sitting in and throwing it across the room on the ground.

"Kurt, stop!" Santana yelled. "Don't do this!"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do when Blaine is lying in that bed _dying_!" Kurt screamed back, pointing at Blaine. "He's _dying, _Santana, and I can't do anything about it. He's _dead _and-and I feel..."

He trailed off, shaking his head, and Santana lost it, walking over and throwing her arms around him. "I know. I know."

They were both crying hysterically. Nurses came in to see what the ruckus was about but only stood hovering, making sure they weren't going to damage more property.

"I can't do this," Kurt said. "They're going to come in here and ask me when I want to unplug him, and I can't do it. How can I tell them to kill Blaine?"

"You said it yourself, Kurt. He's already dead. Blaine's not in there anymore."

They both pulled way from each other, crying and staring at Blaine's body.

"Tell me this isn't real," Kurt begged. "_Please. _I need you to tell me this isn't real."

Santana looped her arm through Kurt's and said, "Remember that story I was telling you in the lobby earlier? I never finished it. The-the boy, and his soulmate, they helped the bitch to be brave. And they got married, and showed her that finding true love is possible. And they had kids, and they found a pretty house and adopted a dog. Eventually, when all their kids grew up and moved out, they retired and settled down in a lighthouse on the beach. And they grew old together there, and one night in their sleep, as they held each other, they died at the same time. Because neither one could stand living without the other, even if it were just for one unconscious second."

Kurt sobbed and let go of Santana, falling to the floor. He cried in anguish, feeling like his insides were being torn apart. He cried for the pain that Blaine suffered, and the way that he'd died, all alone, without Kurt to comfort him and tell him it would be okay.

"I didn't even say I loved him before he left," Kurt said weakly, shaking his head.

Santana sank to the floor with him, a hand on his back, as they cried together on the floor of Blaine's hospital room.

... ... ...

_Without you, the breeze warms, the girl smiles, the cloud moves_

... ... ...

Lots of calls had been made. While Kurt and Santana were having the worst night of their life at the hospital, Rachel had called all their friends, Blaine's parents, Cooper, and Kurt's parents.

When he and Santana finally got off of the floor to leave the hospital, they ran into Mr. and Mrs. Anderson in the lobby. All it took was one look at Kurt's face and the Andersons knew. They both broke down, dissolving into tears. Kurt left after explaining the situation and asking them to call him before they turned off the ventilator, leaving them time alone with their son.

The second Kurt got back to the loft, he went into his and Blaine's room, and immediately started bawling again. It was exactly how Blaine had left it-textbooks and notebooks sprawled on the bed, his suggestions for his and Kurt's outfits the next day, his shoes on the floor by the bed and his messenger bag on the desk against the wall.

Kurt couldn't stand to look at the room. He backed out, closing the curtain and facing the full living room.

"I need the couch," he managed to say, still crying.

Sam, Mercedes, and Rachel immediately leapt up. He made his way over and collapsed, pulling a blanket over himself as he lay on his back, bending his knees. Santana sat beside him and pulled a little of the blanket over her lap.

No one knew what to do or what to say. Everyone was crying, and at one point, Kurt picked up the pillow Blaine had bought for the couch and screamed into it, sounding like a wounded animal. The TV remained off, and everyone's cell phones were on the coffee table.

After an hour, there was a loud knock on the door. Rachel got up and slid the door open to reveal Cooper, eyes red-rimmed and hair a mess. He was the worst Kurt had ever seen him, but the second Cooper's eyes fell on him, Kurt knew he didn't look any better.

"Mom and Dad, they um-" Cooper broke off, crying again. "They say they're gonna turn off the ventilator soon. They sent me to get you."

Kurt nodded, hugging the pillow to his chest. "Yeah, okay." He sat up and set the pillow back down on the couch.

He turned to his friends at the door. "You guys should come. He'd want you there."

There was a flurry of quiet activity as everyone slipped on their coats and grabbed their keys. They filed into two cabs, splitting the group up into Kurt, Cooper, Santana, and Rachel in one cab, Sam, Mercedes, and Artie in the other.

When they all got there, Kurt headed straight for Blaine's room. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were standing on either side of Blaine, holding his hands. They looked up when they saw everybody. Kurt and Cooper stepped into the room, standing with Blaine's mother. Kurt laid a hand on Blaine's thigh and started crying again.

Everyone else seemed to sense the necessity to hang back, so they stood around the doorway, watching from afar.

A doctor came in and, upon universal consent from the four by Blaine's bedside, turned off Blaine's machine.

The ventilator powered down, and Blaine's chest stopped its rhythmic rise-and-fall motion. Kurt stared at Blaine's face as the heart monitor got slower, turning into a long and stagnant beep. The doctor reached and turned the monitor off.

Then there was only silence.

... ... ...

_Without you, the tides change, the boys run, the oceans crash_

... ... ...

The week thereafter, there were arrangements to be made. Blaine's parents had long been reluctant to really accept Kurt's relationship with him, but now they were consulting him on every decision they made. Cremation or burial? Lilies or tulips? Mahogany casket or oak?

There was so much to do. The floral arrangements were supposed to be for their wedding, not Blaine's funeral.

The Andersons had wanted to have Blaine's funeral in Ohio and have him buried there, so Kurt spent most of his time on the phone with funeral directors and florists back home in Ohio to plan the funeral. Once everything was set, a week after Blaine died, Kurt was back in Ohio and at his fiancé's funeral.

He stayed with his dad and Carole, who had just experienced a loss with him with Finn, and now it was happening all over again not even a year later. Their house was quiet and devastating, and none of them did much but cry while Kurt was home.

The funeral was lovely. Kurt made sure to plan it in a way he knew Blaine would love. They decided on a closed casket, because of the state Blaine's body had been in at his death. People didn't want Blaine's bruised and swollen face to be their last image of him. Kurt wanted them to remember him happy—the bright and smiling boy Kurt had fallen in love with years ago.

He held it together as long as he could, standing at the front of the church by Blaine's casket next to his parents and brother. It didn't help that Blaine's mother was a sobbing mess, and his father was choked up, and Cooper couldn't even keep it together. They were supposed to be the strong ones, a symbol that everyone would get through this tragic loss, but Kurt wasn't even sure he'd make it through the funeral.

Standing in a graveyard, Kurt watched them lower the casket into the ground, red and yellow roses sitting on top. The sun was shining and birds were chirping and Kurt had never been more mad at the universe.

At home, Kurt broke completely again. The second he stepped through the door, he collapsed on the ground, sobbing all over again. Carole was down beside him in a heartbeat, holding him close and rocking them back and forth.

"I don't understand," Kurt cried. "He was good. He was so good. Why did this have to happen to him?"

"I don't know, sweetie," Carole said, her own voice thick with tears. "I still haven't found the answer."

And god, if Carole still hadn't found the answer and it had been months since Finn's passing, how was Kurt going to survive?

Later that night, long after everyone had gone to sleep, Kurt crept down the stairs and set about boiling water for tea. He couldn't sleep—for a week, he couldn't sleep. It didn't feel right, in a big cold bed without Blaine tangled up with him. He caught the tea kettle just before it was about to whistle and poured the water into a mug, letting the bag steep.

He turned around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, to find Burt walking into the room.

"Hey, kiddo."

"What are you doing up?" Kurt asked.

"Same as you. Couldn't sleep."

Kurt nodded, staring into his cup, watching the steam rise and swirl.

"How're ya holding up?" Burt asked.

Kurt shrugged, feeling tears spring to his eyes. "Not very good."

"Hey, that's okay. It took us weeks to stop crying after Finn died, remember?"

"I can't think of anything else," Kurt replied helplessly, looking up at his dad. "All I can think of is that Blaine's gone, and I'll never get to hold him again, or kiss him, or talk to him, or tell him I love him. And I keep thinking about Finn, and how we just lost him. I'm not even over that yet; how am I supposed to handle this? How—how am I supposed to keep going?"

Burt crossed the room and sat on a stool at the bar, looking down at his hands. "There's no simple answer, Kurt. I didn't have one after your mom died, or after Finn, and I don't have one now. You just have to keep waking up, every day, and try to go on."

"I don't think I can," Kurt whispered, shaking his head.

"You have to. Blaine wouldn't want you to fall apart. He'd want you to keep trying, to keep going as best you can."

Kurt stared down at the shiny silver ring on his finger, remembering Blaine's face the day he'd asked him to marry him. "We were supposed to get married. Grow old together. Start a family, start a life."

"You guys had a life. You and Blaine, you were on your way. You guys were a family already."

Kurt looked back up at his dad. "That makes it even worse."

… … …

_The crowds roar, the days soar, the babies cry_

… … …

When Kurt returned to New York, he slept on the couch. Every night. He moved most of the things he needed from his room and set up camp on the couch. He couldn't bear to look at his room, not when it still held so much of Blaine. He still hadn't even put Blaine's textbooks or notebooks away. In the margins, though, he saw little doodles of hearts and _Blaine and Kurt Anderson-Hummel _and _Kurt and Blaine Hummel-Anderson. _He immediately started sobbing, and Rachel rushed into the room and helped him to the couch, tucking him in with a blanket and turning on Bravo.

It didn't occur to Kurt that Rachel was really the one person who understood him best until his third night back in New York. He'd been relying so much on Santana when he got the news and the immediate time thereafter, but he completely forgot that Rachel had been through this just earlier that year.

Well, it wouldn't be earlier that year anymore. January was fast approaching, and with it, Christmas.

Rachel made them both tea and sat down next to Kurt on the couch, lifting his legs as he was lying down so she could sit under them, then letting them fall on her lap. She set his mug in front of him on the coffee table.

Kurt stared at the TV, watching the weather channel. It was the only thing he could safely watch without thinking of Blaine, but even it wasn't helping that night as it gave him the forecast for the holidays.

"Christmas was Blaine's favorite holiday," Kurt said blankly. "It wasn't our first Christmas together, but this was supposed to be our first Christmas living together. All he talked about since October was going to cut down a Christmas tree at a farm outside city limits, and bringing it home, decorating it together. He wanted to make eggnog and sing our annual Christmas duet in our own living room. He said he'd been planning on hanging mistletoe above just about every room in the apartment so he'd always have an excuse to get me to kiss him."

"Yeah, he even asked me if he could hang one in my room. Just in case," Rachel said.

Kurt nodded, clutching tighter to Blaine's pillow from their bed. He inhaled the scent and started crying again. "When does it start to get better?"

"It doesn't," Rachel said simply. "You just get better at managing it."

He wiped his eyes. "I feel like I'm never going to stop crying."

"You will. It'll take some time, but you will."

Kurt barely made it through finals, but somehow, he managed to pull out passing grades in all of his classes. Then he had all winter break and he was free to lay on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness all day every day. No one tried to move him or encourage him to get up, so he just lay there, staring blankly at the same weather forecasts for hours.

He didn't know how to cope. With Finn, he was able to move on after a while. It took a few weeks, but he picked himself back up. He knew Finn wouldn't want him wallowing. He knew Blaine wouldn't want that either, but it seemed harder. A huge piece of Kurt's life had been torn away. He and Blaine had been completely intertwined. Their lives were woven together, working best together. Now that Blaine was gone, there was a gaping hole everywhere Kurt looked, and he didn't know how to fill it.

He'd spend hours just staring at his ring, thinking of all the possibilities he'd had with Blaine; their future had been wide open ahead of them with so many opportunities. Now, it was gone. Vanished.

There was no closure. That was what bugged Kurt the most. Blaine had just gone out to get some parsley. He was supposed to be back in twenty minutes. It was a hurried request, a quick run to the store, and he'd be right back. But he wasn't. And he was never coming back. And now all Kurt could do was stare at the door, heart pounding every time it slid open and dropping every time it wasn't Blaine.

The realization washed over him repeatedly every time the door opened that it would never be Blaine again.

… … …

_Without you, the moon glows, the river flows, but I die without you_

… … …

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't think.

Everything was Blaine, and Kurt was empty. He felt hollow. He held onto Blaine's pillow and inhaled, but as time wore on, it didn't even smell like Blaine anymore. Desperate, he sprayed the pillow with Blaine's cologne, but it still wasn't right. The essence of Blaine wasn't there anymore, and Kurt couldn't get it back.

Christmas came around, but no decorations went up. The whole loft ignored the holiday even existed, per Rachel's whispered instructions one evening.

"_No Christmas talk in this loft. Do you hear me? None of it. No decorations, no mistletoe, no Christmas movies or shows. Nothing. The holiday does not exist. Not this year, not in this apartment."_

It was sweet, but Kurt didn't want to suck away everyone's holiday fun. Blaine always talked about how Christmas was the most magical time of the year. The snow falling, and the spirits high, and the carols beautiful. Blaine would be so disappointed if he knew that Kurt had taken away everyone's Christmas.

So, three weeks after Blaine's passing, on a day when everyone was out of the loft except Kurt, he finally got up off the couch, took a shower, got dressed, and decided to bring back Christmas.

He got a cheap artificial tree and some lazy decorations (and a fake electronic menorah) from a dollar store, but it was better than nothing. He set it up by the window and had it all decorated with tinsel and glass ornament globes and rainbow lights by the time everyone got home. He'd even bought some eggnog and threw mistletoe on the ground.

When the door slid open and Rachel and Santana came home, they both stopped in their tracks, staring at the tree. They didn't say anything.

Kurt shrugged, handing them both a glass of eggnog. "Blaine would want us to have Christmas. I even topped the tree with a Jewish star, Rachel. And there's a menorah on the windowsill. Both Blaine's ideas."

Rachel smiled and started crying. "It's perfect."

"What's with the mistletoe on the ground?" Santana asked.

"I didn't feel like hanging it up. Sue me."

They celebrated the holiday quietly, not really exchanging gifts but choosing to spend time together. All their friends sat around the living room, telling funny stories from school or work. Kurt wanted to laugh, he really did, but it was hard enough to smile and he thought that was as much as he could offer.

"Blaine would've enjoyed this," he said quietly, causing everyone in the room to fall silent.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. He would've. He probably would've had his own good stories to share."

"Yeah," Kurt said, trying to smile. "I remember he came home one afternoon in September, telling me about this girl in his acting class. She was supposed to deliver this monologue about farting in yoga class, but every other line she either forgot what she was supposed to say next or couldn't stop laughing. And then, in her nervousness, she actually did fart. In front of the whole class. She was mortified and ran from the room, face red as a tomato."

It seemed like no one knew whether to laugh or not, so they all just smiled and gave these half chuckles that sounded really awkward.

"You can laugh, you know," Kurt told them. "It's a funny story. Blaine could barely stop laughing enough to tell me about it."

"We just don't want to make you feel bad," Mercedes said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

Kurt shrugged. "This was Blaine's favorite holiday. I know he would be here telling the story himself, laughing with us if he could. He'd want us to enjoy ourselves."

… … …

_The world revives, colors renew, but I know blue. Only blue; lonely blue; within me blue. Without you._

… … …

As much effort as Kurt put into Christmas, he couldn't even bear to think about New Year's. Instead, Kurt chose to finish an entire bottle of wine he got Santana to buy for him by six o'clock in the evening and passed out before he'd have to deal with it. Midnight came and passed while he was asleep and drunk on the couch.

More time passed in a blur. Kurt felt more able to get up and do things around the loft now, and he wasn't crying as much, but he still didn't feel any better.

Rachel was right. It never got better. He just got better at managing it.

There were some days when Kurt would just stand in the shower, staring at the tile wall, wondering if it was even worth it to keep living at all. He knew Blaine would yell at him for thinking like that, though. After his own fight with depression, Blaine was very adamant about suicide awareness and getting kids help before it was too late. He'd be so upset with Kurt for even thinking it.

Still, Kurt couldn't help it. Blaine was gone, and he just didn't see a point anymore.

"Did you ever think about suicide?" Kurt asked Rachel one night as they watched Gary talk about the 30% chance of thunderstorms for the weekend.

Rachel turned to Kurt, concerned. "Occasionally. But you can't think like that, Kurt. You know Blaine wouldn't want that."

"I can't help it."

Rachel reached over and laid a hand on one of Kurt's. "He would want better for you."

Kurt sighed. "I know."

"You're registered for classes this spring, right?"

"Rachel, I really don't want to talk about school right now."

"It's important. Blaine wouldn't want you to drop your whole life to wallow like this. School starts back up again in a week. I think you need to go back."

"I don't know if I can," Kurt said, staring at the TV. He slowly turned his attention to her. "I barely have the will to get up and take a shower. I haven't styled my hair or put together a decent outfit since he died. I don't think I can handle taking classes and dealing with homework and tests."

"Well, are you still working at Vogue?"

"Yeah, technically. Isabelle told me to take all the time I need."

"Then maybe just focus on that then. If you don't think you're ready for school, take a semester off, but don't stop everything. Go back to work, even if it's only two or three days a week. You have to get your life started again, Kurt."

He wanted to say that he couldn't, but she was right. Taking a semester off sounded like a good idea, but he'd have to find something to do with his days. He couldn't wallow around the apartment all day every day anymore. He had to start his life again, even if Blaine wasn't in it anymore.

So, the next week, he went back to work. He talked to Isabelle, and they decided he could just work Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. She made sure he knew that if he ever needed to leave early, she understood.

"These things take time," Isabelle said, patting his knee in her office. "The healing process is different for everybody. Whatever you need, I'll do for you."

It felt good, in a way, to be back at work. His desk was just as he'd left it with pictures of him and Blaine all over. He thought about turning the frames down on their faces, but he couldn't do that. Not when they looked so happy. Seeing him and Blaine happy together in these photographs just helped to keep him going, keep him focused on the job.

He had to get his life started again. For Blaine.

Even as the days passed, though, there was still one thing Kurt couldn't get off his mind. He was reminded of it every time he looked down at his left hand. All the wedding plans he'd had, the discussions he'd had with Blaine about it, they all circled his head like some cruel broken loop of video.

At some point, those visions turned to sketches. One moment he was laying on the couch watching a documentary about tornados and the next he had a sketchpad on his lap and a charcoal pencil in his hand and he was sketching out wedding tuxedos.

He didn't cook, or act, or sing anymore. But he found a way to channel his energy into another of his passions. After sketching tons of menswear for weddings, he started sketching bridal gowns and bridesmaids dresses. He even did a few sketches of flower girls.

All around him on the living room were scattered pages with his sweeping arcs and curves.

"What's all this?" Santana asked when she got home, picking a few of them up.

"Just some sketches," Kurt said, shrugging.

"Have you shown anybody?"

"No."

"You should."

And that was all she said before walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a popsicle from the freezer.

… … …

_Without you, the hand gropes, the ear hears, the pulse beats_

… … …

Kurt did end up showing them to Isabelle, who seemed delighted. She even asked him to put them together in a portfolio so she could show them to some of the higher-ups.

He didn't expect anything to come of it, but he was touched she was indulging him anyway.

"_How's it going up there, bud?" _Burt asked on the phone one Friday afternoon.

Kurt shrugged, even though his dad couldn't see him. "It's going."

"_Everything okay?"_

"As okay as it can be. I'm not taking any classes this semester, but I went back to work at Vogue. It's only three days a week, but it's something."

"_Hey, it's a start. You gotta start somewhere. I know Blaine would be real proud of you."_

"Yeah, I like to think he would be."

Things got a little easier. By the end of January, Kurt had gone a whole week without crying. But with the end of January came the month of February, and suddenly there were hearts and flowers and chocolates everywhere. Kurt couldn't go anywhere without some sort of merchandise or advertisement for Valentine's Day.

It felt like a cruel joke of the universe that Blaine died when he had, just before Christmas, and now Valentine's Day. Kurt was having to go through this holidays with the fresh pain of going through them alone.

And then, on Valentine's Day, there was a knock on the door. Rachel answered it and found a guy holding a bouquet of red and yellow roses, claiming they were for Kurt.

"No, that's impossible," Kurt said.

The man insisted, so Rachel took the flowers and shut the door in his face.

"There's a card," she told Kurt. "Do you want to read it?"

Kurt nodded shakily, holding out his hands for the flowers. Rachel placed them into his hands, and he plucked the card from their blooms, opening it.

_To my dearest Kurt,_

_I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I'll love you tomorrow. I don't need Valentine's Day to tell you that, but it sure is a nice excuse for flowers, don't you think?_

_Love, Your Blaine_

Kurt immediately started bawling. Rachel took the flowers from him quickly and put them in a vase with water on the kitchen table. He didn't stop crying for hours, still clutching the card in his hand.

… … …

_The mind churns, (the mind churns). The heart yearns, (the heart yearns)._

… … …

Despite Valentine's Day, Kurt had been doing fairly well. In March, Isabelle approached him about his wedding sketches and said some of the design staff were interested in his work. She said they were wondering if he had anything that wasn't wedding formalwear, so Kurt started sketching other outfits.

He spent a lot of time designing outfits for both women and men. Outfits for fun nights out, or casual days at the park. Outfits with bright colors, sometimes with bowties and suspenders. He even used his sewing machine to bring some of his sketches to life.

Kurt was so caught up in his fashion design work that, without him even realizing it, he'd truly begun to move on.

The thought terrified him.

"What if I forget?" Kurt asked the girls one night, sitting around the kitchen table with cookies and tea.

"You won't," Rachel assured him. "I thought I might. That was one of my biggest fears. But I still hear Finn's voice in my head clear as day. I can still feel exactly how it felt to be held by him for the last time."

"Isn't that even worse?"

"In some ways."

Kurt sighed, staring at the half-eaten store-bought cookie in front of him. "I feel like I'm disrespecting him by moving on. Like it means he didn't mean anything to me. Like I'm not affected by his death."

"Kurt, you've been grieving for months," Santana said softly. "It's not disrespectful. It's just time. He knows how much you loved him, how much you still do."

Kurt looked up at the ceiling. "I wish I believed in that stuff. I really do. God, I'd give _anything _to believe that he was somewhere, watching over me, knowing that I'm still here loving him."

Rachel placed a hand on Kurt's. "I believe in it, and I know that Blaine is out there, Kurt. I feel him every day. You do, too. I know you do."

That night, for the first night in months, Kurt decided to venture back into their room and sleep in their bed.

He took a deep breath as he stepped into their room, looking around at everything. Still, months later, Blaine's textbooks and notebooks lay open on the bed. Kurt slowly made his way over and went to close them, stacking them up and taking them over to the desk. Something on the desk gave him pause, though. He set the books down on the corner and lifted up the sticky note Blaine had left there.

_Only because I love you so much would I go out in the middle of studying to buy you parsley. You are one lucky man to get to marry me, mister. ;) xoxo_

Kurt smiled despite the tears now running down his cheeks. He'd worked for months to not feel the blame for Blaine's death, and he knew that it wasn't his fault. It was a hateful crime by people the police were never able to hunt down. And he would never get to marry Blaine now. The ring sat on his finger, a constant reminder of the life that should have been.

But somehow, still, the note made Kurt smile. He stuck it on top of Blaine's notebook and centered the stack on the desk. Then, he changed into his pajamas, climbing under the covers tentatively, wrapping his arms around Blaine's pillow.

He could swear as he drifted off that he felt Blaine's arms circle around him. He could feel Blaine's body pressed up behind his, cuddling close. And he thought back to what Rachel said earlier, _I feel him every day. You do, too, _and he realized she was right.

Blaine may have died, but he'd never be gone.

… … …

_The tears dry without you. Life goes on, but I'm gone, 'cause I die without you; without you; without you_

_Without you_


End file.
